


Lessons in Sentiment

by AngeNoir



Series: Write-Away Giveaway Fills on Tumblr [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looks at her one morning, in the sharp, brisk air that is characteristic in Moscow at this time of year, and realizes that she is not as incompetent as most other human beings are.</p><p>That’s really what starts it, he supposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> As a celebration for reaching 100 followers on tumblr, I'm holding a giveaway [here](http://outercorner.tumblr.com/post/51036127748/write-away-giveaway-last-call-3-hours-left), and what I'm giving away is prompt fills for anyone who asks! I received this prompt from [ladyof-thelake](http://ladyof-thelake.tumblr.com):
> 
> _Could you write a story where during Sherlock's 3 year absence he kinds of falls for a girl he helped?_

He looks at her one morning, in the sharp, brisk air that is characteristic in Moscow at this time of year, and realizes that she is not as incompetent as most other human beings are.

That’s really what starts it, he supposes.

He saved her life, and in return she asked him if he really wanted to continue sleeping in homeless shelters or if he would rather stay with her.

Now, months later, he cannot understand why he has no words to describe the golden glow around curly black hair. He cannot for the life of him comprehend the effect her smile has on his chest.

He cannot explain why, in the two years and five months he’d been gone from London, he found himself unable to move on from a city once he’d cleaned out Moriarty’s operatives.

She is – fire, and ice, a mess of contradictions in one packet. Of the many people he’d met during his travels, she had caused him to pause. Her life was not easily read in the crease of her seam and the dust under her fingernails. He had been intrigued – which, come to think of it, was probably why he had noticed when men had cornered her in a dark alley.

She is everything to him, in a way no one had ever been before. She brings him tea, real tea, and teases him until he finds himself laughing for no reason at all. He finds that she can discuss knowledgeably on quite a few composers, and they discuss the merits of chords and symphonies until the pre-dawn hours.

She sleeps wrapped around him, trusting and sweet and kind. When she wakes, she is a terror, forcing him to eat, telling him that he needs nourishment as much as any other human being, why won’t he listen, he’ll come to a bad end, just you wait and see.

He finds he cannot deny her anything. He cannot keep her from prying out his coldest, darkest secrets. Her warmth curls around the bare bones of his skeleton and finds the withered tissue of his heart, pumps new life into it. He takes her on walks, describes the people as they pass by, and she finds it a delightful game, reveling in his brilliance, smiling wide, teeth a shock of bright white against chapped, reddened lips.

He kisses her, one day, after they’d argued over Vivaldi until four in the morning, huddled together near the radiator since the winter chill was seeping into the tiny attic apartment. He realized that he’d been staring at her lips, and she had been staring back, fearless and curious, neither pushing nor fearful of his next action. The kiss is gentle and heart-warming and terrifying.

He can easily see himself build a life here, with her.

But Moriarty’s network is not uprooted. He knows this because when he wakes up the next morning, curled around her again, her breasts heavy against his chest and her breath puffing against his collarbone, there is a message in his phone from Mycroft. Moran has made plans to come to London soon. Sherlock needs to stop him before he gets to London, before he gets to the people that made Sherlock run in the first place.

She can tell in his eyes that he’s leaving, when he looks away from his phone’s screen and sees those green eyes on him. She smiles warmly and tells him that he better come back one day. She’s not going to wait forever.

He makes love to her then, in a way he never has before, completely devoted to learning her body. Then he presses his forehead to hers and whispers promises to come back once his job is complete.

He will not break that promise, not if he has breath left in his body to complete it.

He leaves her apartment but cannot stop turning around to see her, outlined in the sun, glowing like a beacon home.


End file.
